


Muttonchops, They Ain't

by singingintime (laulan)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Facial Hair, Gen, Peach Fuzz, Shore Leave, poor attempts at writing phonetic accents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-25
Updated: 2009-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/singingintime
Summary: Ensign Chekov tries to grow a beard on shoreleave. It doesn't turn out so well.





	Muttonchops, They Ain't

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear scintilla10 for helping me find a title for this fic, nine years after the fact. <3

Chekov knocked back his sixth shot of vodka and signaled the bartender for another, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and scowling down at the bartop. He officially hated shore leave, he'd decided. He could not wait to return to the _Enterprise_ , where safety and new equations awaited him. Safety, new equations, and no women with incorrect ideas about fashion--the last one the most important factor. This planet seemed to have no shortage of those, and he was very tired of it--  
  
"Hey there, cutie, why the frown?" came a light musical voice from his right.  
  
Not again! He whipped around and glared up at the beautiful blue-haired girl he found there. "Do not come near me," he warned her, sternly. "I am haweing drink _alone_."  
  
She grinned, eyes fixed on his chin, and shook her head. "Silly," she lisped, sidling closer. "That's no fun! Are you even old enough to drink?"  
  
"I am eighteen!--"  
  
He saw what was coming too late. He tried desperately to duck, but she caught his chin in one careful hand before he could escape. He grimaced and braced himself, stomach churning.   
  
She stroked gently over the hair on his chin, delight coming into her eyes.  
  
"Aww, how _cute_ ," she cooed. "It's so soft and fluffy!"  
  
"Is not _cute_!" Chekov insisted, but his words fell on deaf ears: the woman kept combing through his beard, making noises at him like he was some kind of baby or puppy, and rubbing his curls like she was petting him.  
  
"I am ensign on starship _Enterprise_ , and I order you to--"  
  
"Tanya!" called the girl, motioning with her chin. "C'mere! I found the _cutest thing ever_!"  
  
"Is not cute," Chekov cried, but it was far, far too late by then.  
  
-  
  
McCoy found Sulu with his head on the table, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled, patting his side for his hypospray. Sulu had better not cut this leave short with some kinda stupid laughing disease or something--McCoy'd been waiting to sleep in a real bed for months.  
  
Sulu just shook his head, though, raising one trembling hand and pointing over at the bar. "It's P-Pavel," he gasped at McCoy, tears in his eyes and helpless grin eating up his face. "Ensign Chek--Chekov, I mean--he tried to--to grow a beard--to--to prove his manliness," he choked.   
  
He broke into another fit of laughter, and McCoy raised his eyebrows, glancing over at the bar.   
  
Chekov was there, all right: batting ineffectually at one girl's hands and casting betrayed blue eyes at another, who was tickling the fluff on his chin and making high-pitched squealing noises.  
  
"Release me," Chekov not-quite-wailed, squirming.  
  
"What a cutie," gushed the first, petting Chekov's tiny sideburns. "Aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you are!"  
  
McCoy smirked, pulled out a chair next to Sulu, and settled back to watch. This? Was going to be goddamn beautiful.


End file.
